


Welcome To Hogsmeade

by everambling



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-11-27
Updated: 2014-01-22
Packaged: 2018-01-02 18:59:37
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,418
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1060397
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/everambling/pseuds/everambling
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Potterwatch wasn’t the only station following the progress of the second war. Reporting to you live on student Hogsmeade weekends via wizarding wireless from an undisclosed location, Draco Malfoy tells the tale of the Death Eater invasion and the boy with the lightning scar who braves the countryside in search of Horcruxes… A friendly mountain community where the blood is pure, the snow never melts, and the dark mark hangs in the sky while we all pretend to sleep...</p>
<p>Welcome to Hogsmeade.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Pilot/The Glow Cloud/PTA Meeting

A friendly mountain community where the blood is pure, the snow never melts, and the dark mark hangs in the sky while we all pretend to sleep...

Welcome to Hogsmeade.

Hello listeners. To start things off I’ve been asked to read this brief notice: the Death Eaters announce the re-opening of the Chamber of Secrets in the school a few miles from the station. They would like to remind everyone that Mudbloods are not allowed in the Chamber. Teachers are not allowed in the Chamber. It is possible that you will see the Dark Lord entering the Chamber. Do not approach him. _Do not approach the Dark Lord_. Try not to look at the Chamber, and especially do not look for any period of time at the Dark Lord. The Dark Lord will not harm you (unless you are a Mudblood).

And now the news.

Old man Aberforth in the Hog’s Head says he can produce a Patronus. Says it is seven feet tall with radiant antlers. Says it performs various household chores for him. It put out the cat. He is offering the services of his Patronus, which has the power to ward off Dementors. Says it is a goat Patronus, if that sweetens the pot for anyone. If you’re interested, contact old man Aberforth. He’s at the Hog’s Head.

Harry Potter was spotted in town today. No one knows what he was doing here or what he wants from us. Why his perfect and untidy hair? Why his perfect and beautiful scar? He says he is the Chosen One. Well, we have all been the Chosen One at one point in our lives. But why now? Why here? And just what does he plan to do with the sword of Gryffindor he is keeping in a small beaded bag in that tent of his camped out behind Honeyduke’s? No one does Acid Pops like Honeyduke’s. _No one_.

Just a reminder to all the parents out there. Let’s talk about safety when taking your children out to play in the ice fields and the Shrieking Shack. You need to cast warming charms on them, make sure there are no Mudbloods in the area, and keep an eye on those Apparating in an out of the village. Are the figures appearing out of thin air belligerent and unwashed? Probably Snatchers. Not a good time for play that day. Are they wearing masks? Those are the Dark Lord’s Death Eaters. They’ll keep a good eye on your kids, and hardly ever take one. Are they decomposing corpses stumbling blindly through the landscape? No one knows where those Inferi came from, or what they want. Do not play in the area. Return to your homes, and lock the doors until a Death Eater leaves the head of an unfaithful house-elf on your doorstep to indicate that the danger has passed. Cover your ears to blot out the screams. Also, remember: Butterbeer is basically soda, so give your kids plain old water, and maybe a sermon on magical supremacy while they play.

A dragon guarding a Gringott’s vault disappeared today, only to turn up, we are told, on the Hogwarts Quidditch pitch, disrupting Slytherin team practice quite badly. The dragon roared through the pitch for only a moment, and before it could burn any players to a crisp, it flew away again, this time apparently for good. There is no word yet on if or how this will affect the Slytherin team game schedule, and also, if this could be the work of their bitter rivals the Gryffindor team. Gryffindor is always trying to show us up through fancier broomsticks, better pregame snacks, and possibly, by transporting an aged dragon onto the pitch, delaying practice for several minutes at least. For shame, Gryffindor. For shame.

The Chosen One called a town meeting. He has eyes as green as a fresh pickled toad and teeth like a military cemetery. His hair is perfect, and we all hate and despair and love that perfect hair in equal measure. Old man Aberforth brought treacle tarts, which were decent, but lacked sugar. He said the Death Eaters had taken his sugar for black market potions, and he hadn’t yet gotten around to buying more. Potter told us that we are, by far, the most corrupt magical community in Britain, and he had come to rid the world of this scourge. He grinned, and everything about him was perfect, and I fell in love _instantly_. Hogwarts teachers with vague, uncertain allegiances were in the back watching. I fear for Potter. I fear for Hogsmeade. I fear for anyone caught between what they know and an Unforgivable curse.

The local chapter of the Mudblood Registration Commission is selling badges as part of their fundraising week. They sent the station one to get some publicity, and I’m here to serve the magical community so I’m happy to let you all know about it. The badges are made from good, sturdy elm, and they read, “Wands don’t choose Mudbloods. It’s impossible for a wand to choose filthy blood. We are the sole proprietors of magic and it is a miracle.” Stand outside of your front door and shout, “I must not tell lies!” to order one.

And now the weather... (Cue "A Cauldron Full of Hot, Strong Love" by Celestina Warbeck née Boardman.)

A great howling was heard from the Shrieking Shack yesterday. Villagers claimed no knowledge, although passersby described the sound as being a little like a fragment of a human soul being destroyed through basilisk venom. The Half Blood Prince—now, I don’t know if you’ve seen this guy around; he’s the one who appears to harbor a secret love for Mudbloods, yet wears a dark mark and claims to be the Dark Lord’s most trusted adviser—he appeared on the scene, and swore that he would discover the truth. No one responded because it’s really hard to take him seriously with that shampoo aversion of his.

The station would like to remind you about the Order of the Phoenix and Dumbledore’s Army. The reminder is that you should not know anything about these. The Patronus and Galleon-based method of Order and DA communication is privileged information known only to rebels on a need-to-know basis. Please, do not speak to or acknowledge any rebels you might come across while shopping at Zonko’s or Honeyduke’s. They only tell lies, and do not exist. Report all rebel sightings to the Death Eaters for treatment.

And now for a brief public service announcement: Lethifolds. Can they kill your children? Yes.

Potter, perfect and beautiful, came into the studio during the break earlier, but declined to stay for an interview. He had some sort of locket in his hand with a tiny heartbeat. Said he was testing the place for traces of dark magic. I don’t know what kind of dark magic he meant, but that locket sure hissed a lot like a snake. When he lifted it close to his scar it sounded like, well, like a room full of angry Parselmouths all yelling at each other. Potter looked nervous. I’ve never seen that kind of look on someone with eyes that green. He left in a hurry. Told me to evacuate the building. But then, who would be here to talk to all of you out there? Settling in to be another dark night and pureblooded evening here in Hogsmeade. I hope all of you out there can cast protective enchantments around your homes, or at least have neighbors who can do it for you.

Good night listeners. Good night.

***

The war seems vast, endless, and yet Ministry wizards tells us that it is for the greater good. After all, Magic is Might...

Welcome to Hogsmeade.

The Hogwarts Mandatory Education campaign has kicked off with posters encouraging Pureblood families to send their children to school, or else. Their slogan? “The Dark Lord Commands it.” Posters will be placed in pubs and wizarding supply shops in nearby towns, along with promotional giveaways of Borgin and Burke’s rebate cursed merchandise.

And now, the news.

Have any of our listeners seen the glowing cloud that has been moving in from the north? Well, Madame Rosmerta—you know, the barmaid?—she saw it by a mountain cave this morning, said she would have thought it was the setting sun if it wasn’t for the time of day. Apparently the cloud glows in a variety of colors, perhaps changing from observer to observer, although all report a low rumbling when it draws near. One death has already been attributed to the glow cloud. But listen, it’s probably nothing. If we had to shut down the town for every mysterious event that at least one death could be attributed to, we’d never have time to do anything, right? That’s what the Death Eaters are saying, and I agree. Although, I would not go so far as to endorse their suggestion to run directly at the cloud, shooting killing curses left and right, just to see what will happen.

The Half-Blood Prince—and I remind you this is the Mudblood lover who wears a dark mark—has announced that he has found some disturbing evidence concerning the recent incident at the Shrieking Shack, which has been sealed by Death Eaters since the great screaming that was heard from it a few days ago. He said that using ancient dark magic he slipped through Death Eater security into the Shrieking Shack, and observed that all the furniture had been thrown about as if in a whirlwind, that there was the heavy stench of blood, that the words written in blood on the wall said, “Enemies of the heir, beware.” Can you believe this guy killed Dumbledore? What an asshole.

Here’s something odd. Mrs. Norris, the caretaker’s cat, has been hung upside down in the women’s bathroom down at the school, I am told. She seems perfectly intact, but has been petrified and hung next to the sink. Doesn’t seem able to move from her current spot. If you pet her, she is cold and hard like stone. Fortunately, because she’s right by the sink, we assume the heir of Slytherin will emerge from the Chamber of Secrets and leave some water and food where she could get it, and it’s nice for Filch to have a break. Says he wishes his cat hadn’t been petrified, and he demands some punishment, but listen: no pet is perfect. It becomes perfect when you learn to accept it for what it is.

The Inquisitorial Squad has announced some slight changes to its hierarchy, which will now be the following: first years, prefects, head boy and girl, the Dark Lord’s sworn youth, and members sealed by the Unbreakable Vow. As always, signup is automatic and non-negotiable, so look for the scarlet howler that will let you know you have been recruited.

Alert: the Dark Lord’s Death Eaters are searching for a fugitive named Fluffy, who escaped custody last night following a 9pm arrest. Fluffy is described as a giant three-headed dog, approximately 18 feet tall, with fangs and claws and yellow eyes. He is suspected of being in serious breach of the ban on experimental breeding. Fluffy was stopped for alleged Patronus use last night, and Death Eaters became suspicious when he gave them the fake name Stubby Boardman. After discerning that Fluffy was actually a three-headed dog, the Death Eaters searched his trunk. Representatives from the local chapter of S.P.E.W. have protested that Death Eaters had no legal grounds to search his trunk, but were forced to cede the point when they were reminded by Death Eaters that our magical court system will uphold any old authoritarian rule made up (quite literally) on the fly by the Dark Lord and his unsupervised wand-carrying thugs of a shadow government. The Death Eaters say Fluffy escaped custody by biting and clawing at them, and he was last seen running on all fours towards the Shrieking Shack. Death Eaters are asking for tips leading to the arrest of Fluffy. They remind you that, if seen, he should not be approached, as he is literally a monstrous three-headed dog. Contact the Dark Lord’s Death Eaters if you have any information. Ask for Macnair. Helpful tipsters will earn one stamp on their alert citizens card. Collect five stamps, and you get a Muggle hunting pass for a year.

And now, a look at the community calendar.

Saturday, the Room of Requirement up at the school will be unknowable. Students will forget the existence of the room 6pm Saturday morning until 11pm that night. The Room will be under a sort of renovation. It is not important what kind of renovation.

Monday, Gilderoy Lockhart is offering duelling lessons in the Great Hall. Of course, Lockhart’s memory was erased years ago, and Lockhart left the school immediately after with his paychecks cashed, but he’s sent word that you should bring stories of your most daring exploits from the war to the pixie-infested den where his office once was, write them down and leave them in a dark corner where you can pretend he is teaching you. The price is five Galleons per session, payable in advance.

Wednesday has been canceled due to a mishap in the time room of the Department of Mysteries.

And on Thursday is a surprise inspection... That’s all it says here.

New call in from Rosmerta—you know, the barmaid? Seems the glow cloud has approached the village, disturbing all of Hogsmeade with its weird light and loud rumbling. Owl post has announced it will continue its services, though protective enchantments will be placed on the birds due to the increasing frequency of objects falling from the sky. I’ve had multiple reports that a bicycle, like the kind you would see on the streets of Muggle London, or a blood traitor’s backyard shed, fell on top of Madame Puddifoot’s.

The Dark Lord’s Death Eaters have apparently taken to shouting questions at the glow cloud, trying to ascertain what exactly it wants. So far, the glow cloud has not answered. The glow cloud does not need to converse with us. It does not feel as we tiny humans feel. It has no need for thoughts or feelings of love. The glow cloud simply is. All hail the mighty glow cloud. All hail.

And now, slaves of the cloud, the weather... (Cue "Do the Hippogriff" by the Weird Sisters.)

Sorry listeners. Not sure what happened in the earlier section of the broadcast. As in, I actually don’t remember what happened. The glow cloud was revealed to be a thirty foot giant having set his own hair on fire, and one of the Imperius curses aimed at him by a Death Eater was bounced back onto me with curious results.

The giant, meanwhile, has moved on to a further mountain cave. He is now just a smoking spot in the distance, humming under his breath about “Hermy” and “Hagger.” We may never fully know or understand at all who he was or why he threw bric-a-brac at our community. But, and I’m going to get a little personal here, that’s the essence of life, isn’t it? Sometimes you go through things that seem huge at the time, like the Dark Lord enslaving and threatening to kill your whole family. While they’re happening they seem like the only thing that matters, and you can hardly imagine that there’s a world out there with anything else going on. And then the Dark Lord leaves the country to chase an enemy in Nurmengard. And you move on. And the event is behind you. And you may find that, as time passes, you remember it less and less—and under pain of death are forbidden from speaking of it, in my case. And you are left with nothing but a powerful sense of paranoia and the faint but ever-present prickling of the dark mark on your arm.

Good night listeners. Good night.

***

The mountains are illuminated by the light of a hundred wands. Our little town is lit, too, by a monstrous green skull with a snake for a tongue...

Welcome to Hogsmeade.

The _Daily Prophet_ has announced that they will be cutting back their publication schedule to Monday through Thursday only, due to the economic downturn and the widespread murders of their readership. The Thursday _Prophet_ will now be called the Weekend edition, and on Sundays, owls will deliver instead potted plants filled with Devil’s Snare. When asked why Devil’s Snare, the _Prophet’s_ senior correspondent Rita Skeeter said, “We have been charged with ferreting out the traitors.”

Here at the undisclosed wizarding wireless station it’s lease negotiation season with the landlord again! That’s always an interesting time. Now, obviously, I can’t go into detail, but negotiation is tricky because my landlord happens to be a Boggart. This creature stays inside his locked cabinet at all times, only communicating with me through sealed envelopes that are spat out from under the cabinet door like a pumpkin seed through teeth. Then, in order to respond, you just sort of shout at the closed door and hope he or she hears. Sometimes you can hear the wardrobe rattling, banging against the wall, with strange shadowy tendrils slipping beneath the door. Architecturally speaking, the apparent size of the cabinet does not physically make sense given the size of the room in which it resides, but it’s hard to say really, as this may be the work of undetectable extension charms.

The Death Eaters have asked me to remind everyone about the new drive to clean up litter. Hogsmeade is our home. And who wants trash all over their home? Keep it outside our city, where it belongs. And if you see any Mudbloods littering the streets, Avada Kedavra them, and vanish the bodies! Do your part. Unless the filth is a known Undesirable. The Death eaters have asked me to remind you that any top-ranking Undesirables are not to be approached. Remember the slogan: Common Mudblood filth? Common killing curse. Undesirable number one? He belongs to the Dark Lord.

Listeners, we are currently fielding numerous reports that books have stopped working. It seems that all over Hogsmeade, books have simply ceased functioning. The Order of the Phoenix are studying a mangled diary to see if they can understand just what is going on here. The exact problem is currently unclear, but some of the words being used include “horcruxes,” “basilisk fang,” and “violation of the deepest laws of magic.” For your own safety, please do not attempt to open a book until we have more information on the nature and cause of these problems. The Death Eaters have released only a brief statement, indicating that their stance on books has not changed, and that, as always, they believe that books are dangerous and inadvisable, and should not be kept in private homes.

Another warning for Hogsmeade residents. Sources say that the Hog’s Head on the main road is a front for Dumbledore’s Army. This is based on extensive study of the Floo Network, and also because it has a regular traffic of dozens of underage students a day; fairly unusual for one of the _Daily Prophet’s_ Seven Most Disgusting and Inadvisable Dining Establishments In Britain. I sent a house-elf, Kreacher, to try ordering a Butterbeer, and have not heard back from him for several weeks. Which brings me to a related point. The the noble and most ancient house of Black: we regret to inform you that your elf was lost in the line of wizarding radio duty, and that he will be replaced shortly. May you all feel fortunate to have the servants that you have, and if you’re looking for Butterbeer, check out the Three Broomsticks right over by Hogsmeade station. The Three Broomsticks is only a front for the Dark Lord’s Death Eaters, so it can be completely trusted.

Two omniocular-carrying listeners sent in reports that Harry Potter, our curious rebel visitor, was seen getting his beautiful, beautiful hair cut. He was having his gorgeous hair shorn! Cut! Cut short! So very short from his brilliant, beautifully shaped head. Listeners, I am not one to gossip even if it is a local celebrity, but please explain to my why Potter would strip away, decimate, any part of his untidy black hair—not to uncover the iconic, if telltale scar on his forehead. What treacherous barber should agree to such depravity? Who takes mere money, or even soulless joy, in depriving our small community of such a simple, but important act as luridly admiring Potter’s stunning coif? Reports from two intrepid sources are that it was the Mudblood Granger. Granger, who likes house-elves, and has posters of Gilderoy Lockhart. Granger seems to be the one who has betrayed our community. Hermione Granger. It is Granger at the corner of Madame Puddifoot’s and the owl post, with the shabby tent and the jar of bluebell flames outside. Granger is about five foot four with extremely bushy hair. She talks very fast, and lectures on  _Hogwarts, A History_. Granger cut Potter’s beautiful hair. According to reports. Granger.

And now an editorial.

I don’t ask for favors much, listeners, that you know, but I’m asking all of you right now to conduct a letter writing campaign to my landlord, who was not pleased with my discussion of his or her confinement to a cabinet, and is now threatening to shut down my show—or possibly, my life. For good. The wording was... kind of ambiguous. Obviously I will not be able to deliver the letters directly to the Boggart per say, as no one has ever opened that cabinet door, but I can shout the content of the letters outside the cabinet and, I presume, given an anatomy that includes ears, he or she will be able to hear what you have to say. So if you like this show, and you want to hear more of it, then I need to hear from you. Make your voice heard to whatever it is that lies in wait behind that darkened cabinet door.

- _dramatic crashing_ -

Oh! Um, I’m sorry listeners—We’ll be back after this word from our sponsors.

This segment has been brought to us by Honeyduke’s Confectioners. Listeners, we are proud to have Honeyduke’s as a sponsor of our show. You will not find a better candy shop in all of Hogsmeade than Honeyduke’s. Just the other night I stopped by Honeyduke’s. I was in the mood for some delicious fizzing whizbees, and since Honeyduke’s is the only candy shop in Honeyduke’s that has not been burned to the ground in an unsolved arson case strikingly similar to the fate that befell Florean Fortescue, and did I mention, is also the best candy shop in town, I ordered a whole box. And boy was I satisfied. I hovered all the way to the ceiling immediately. And I couldn’t get down for hours! I have been told that even the Death Eaters frequent Honeyduke’s; the owners look like they avert their terrified gazes quite a bit. Even the Dark Lord offers his ringing endorsement of Honeyduke’s. All Hogsmeade citizens are mandated to eat Honeyduke’s candy once a week. It is a punishable offense not to. Honeyduke’s confectioners. No one does acid pops like Honeyduke’s, folks! _No one._

And now listeners, the weather. (Cue "Your Love Is My Dementor's Kiss" by the Hobgoblins.)

- _muffled crashing and groaning_ -

Hello listeners. I come to you from under my desk, where I have dragged my wooden wireless, and am currently hiding in the fetal position. Did you write letters? Then you should not do this anymore. The Boggart has opened the cabinet for the first time in my memory, and is now roaming the building. I don’t know exactly what the Boggart looks like, as that is when I took cover under my desk, and I can only hope that he or she is not listening to what’s going out right now or else I may have sealed my fate. I can hear only a kind of clicking footstep, and a faint hissing sound like releasing steam. A house-elf went to see what the Boggart wanted and has not returned. If you are related to Winky the elf, afternoon fact checker here at Hogsmeade community radio, I am sorry to inform you that she is probably dead or at least corporally absorbed into the Boggart permanently. Winky and Kreacher the elves will be missed, but we will surely see them in the Halloween Dead Slaves Impersonation contest, which this year will be in the Inn above the Three Broomsticks from 11am until 9:45pm – _light sob_ \- There will be a cash bar and two chess boards – _sharp inhale_ \- I am going to see if I can make a break for the door. If you don’t hear from me again, I have been overtaken by whatever mortal fear the Boggart has conjured. Good night Hogsmeade. And goodbye!

***

Our Muggle-repelling charms have grown so very old and worn. How long until the barrier is broken? How long?

Welcome to Hogsmeade.

Our top story: Last night’s Hogwarts board of governors meeting ended in bloodshed, as a rift in time split open in the great hall, setting loose several confused and physically aggressive hippogriffs. The time-turner responsible remained in movement and spinning incessantly, a dizzying sight that witnesses say resembled first years scrambling to find their way through the school’s interminable changing staircases. The hippogriffs attacked mostly male students with blond hair. Authorities are still unsure why, as Hogwarts’s only hippogriff expert, Rubeus Hagrid, still has not recovered from the death of his monstrous flesh-eating spider. It took most of an hour to corral the panicked beasts back through the rift in time and resume the meeting, which had mostly been upon recent house-elf efficiency, and had devolved into name calling because Minerva McGonagall called Alecto Carrow “a bit tubby” and said “maybe she needs a financial incentive to eat less.” In my opinion, McGonagall is dangerously obsessed with the Gryffindor Quidditch team winning the cup. Dangerously so. No one was injured or killed in the incident, although experts from the Accidental magical Reversal Squad estimate close to five hundred galleons of damage has been done to the great hall—and that cost includes free shackles for disobedient students with complimentary installation and consultation.

It’s election season again, and you know what that means! The Dark lord’s Death Eaters will be coming by to collect certain family members so that everyone votes the correct way and there’s no confusion. These family members will be held in a secure and undisclosed location, which everyone knows is the Shrieking Shack just outside of town. But don’t let the name fool you, listeners: it’s been used for years for so many kidnappings and illegal detentions that the shack is actually a pretty nice location these days, featuring four-poster beds, free pumpkin juice, and wizarding wireless service. Also torture cubicles, but I don’t think the Death Eaters are going to use those. Remember, this is the Dark Lord’s world now. Vote correctly, or never see your loved ones again. This message brought to you by the Death Eaters.

This just came to me through the Floo network: the Death Eaters have issued a new statement shedding more light onto last night’s Hogwarts board of governors meeting incident. The rift in time and subsequent hippogriff attack that brutally interrupted discussion of student license over Unforgivables during detention sessions stayed open long after Hogwarts staff thought they had rounded up all the half-bird half-horse beasts, and authorities warn that there is still at least one hippogriff on the loose. Citizens should disillusion themselves and hide in an unplottable basement.

Several curious Quidditch players coming in from the pitch actually popped their heads into the time portal just to see what was on the other side, and came back dramatically changed. The players’ heads aged in reverse until several were sporting the heads of babies on full-grown adolescent bodies. Those Quidditch players now straddle the unenviable border between irreversibly maimed and cripplingly insane. Since psychological and emotional damages are no longer being treated by Madame Pomfrey due to the staggering number of cases involving said damages coming out of the Death Eater regime, no actual injuries are reported. I’ll update you as details surface in our special ongoing coverage of hippogriff attack gate. Are we safe from half-breed beasts? No way.

The Death Eaters have asked me to read the following message. If you notice strange enchantments around any of the following objects seen around town: gold cup, heavy locket, jeweled sword, nondescript black diary, terrifying snake, ornate stone ring, or engraved diadem, please report to the Death Eaters for indefinite detention.

Speaking of the Death Eaters, they voted this week to remove the large, murderous Whomping Willow from the nearby school grounds. You know, the one that attempts to pummel anyone who comes near it to death. Proponents of the measure said the tree’s known history of having grievously injured no fewer than two dozen students was at worst a gross violation of school board policy and, at best, rather irresponsible. Many Hogsmeade citizens attended the meeting, including, it was said, several members of the Order of the Phoenix—although no Order member is admitted to have been present for the meeting or any other event ever, for that matter. Old man Aberforth agreed with the measure, adding that the tree was a breach of the ban on experimental plant breeding, and that the old tree was nothing but a ticking time bomb. According to the meeting minutes, Aberforth said, “That old tree of Albus’s. Oooooooh, that bloody tree. Somebody’s going to have their eye put out, and Albus won’t be here to pick up the pieces, like usual.”

Potter, beautiful Potter, tragically shorn of his locks, reportedly was the only dissenting voice—but it is not clear he actually opposed the measure, as the minutes only report him stating, “I don’t have time for this, there’s no time,” into a mirror shard in his hand and then running dramatically from the Three Broomsticks private meeting booth. He was still absolutely perfect, and smelled of Drooble’s best blowing gum.

It’s almost Quidditch season, and the Slytherin team is gearing up for a defense of the cup title. But really, as long as we beat Gryffindor, fans and Death Eaters alike will feel just fine. Madame Hooch stated she’s particularly excited about the progress beater Vincent Crabbe made during the off-season, after that stray engorgement charm hit him and gave him the strength of a blast-ended skrewt and the intelligence of a heavily concussed mountain troll. But, if Slytherin are to beat their bitter rivals this year, and stave off the Death Eater-administered Cruciatus curses that follow a losing season record, Crabbe will have to improve his accuracy. Last year, Crabbe only hit 2 of 130 bludger attempts—most notably, because he had been covered in boils and given antlers by malicious opponents, and because his batting arm had been flayed by Madame Pince due to several overdue library books. Apparently, the off season spell incident has healed Crabbe of his unfortunate ailments and staff-administered injuries, and he’s ready to take on Gryffindor, which is probably the worst team ever. Merlin, they’re dreadful.

We have an unexpected treat today, listeners. Live in the studio we have one of the Dementors often seen patrolling town. I did not actually invite him here; he was just waiting for me when I unlocked the studio this morning. He has not moved, nor spoken since then, and I’ll be honest: I am only guessing that he is a he, because physical attributes are hard to determine under those cloaks, and the face is entirely hidden in shadow as empty and black as the void of space. But hey, we’re doing radio! Let’s see if I can get an interview.

Mr Dementor, how are you doing today?

- _static_ -

Huh! Okay. Care to comment on the visions of my family under torture I am currently experiencing?

- _more static_ -

Any comments at all? Anything you’d like to tell the people of Hogsmeade about your rapacious hunger for human misery?

- _static getting louder_ -

Listeners, I’m sure you can hear this. It’s not a problem with your wireless or my transmitter. The Dementor is flying around in a flurry and creating droves of mist. It’s ridding me of all happy feelings, actually. Alright! I don’t think he’s going to stop, and he’s started to levitate, so let’s go to the weather...

(Cue "Turnip Trouble" by the Hobgoblins.)

Ladies and gentlemen, we have just received word that the rip in time that opened at last night’s Hogwarts board of governors meeting has been sealed at last. The final missing hippogriff has been returned to its own timeline in either the far future or distant, Dark Lord free past. The creature was found flapping frantically towards the gamekeeper’s cabin, devastating the school pumpkin patch and leaving pumpkin viscera splattered across the grounds. Witherwings was returned to the time rift, the gateway closed, the governors’ meeting rescheduled for next Tuesday at 6pm. The meeting will continue to address the important issue of free periods, and whether or not they are giving students time to form dangerous rebel groups. There will also be a memorial service for the 38 parents and students who lost their lives in the attack, followed by a raffle. Remember, winners must be present at the time of the drawing or serve as target practice for the Carrows.

Coming up next, stay tuned for a one hour special Celestina Warbeck concert broadcast. And listeners, Hogsmeade is a magical place, full of history and secrets... as we were reminded today. But it is also a place of the present moment, full of life, and pure blood. If you can hear my voice speaking live, then you know: we are not history yet. We are happening now. How temporary is that? Goodnight, listeners. Goodnight.


	2. Chapter 2

Close your eyes. Let my words wash over you. Pretend you are safe now…

Welcome to Hogsmeade.

Local historians are protesting the removal of the snake in the Shrieking Shack no one acknowledges or talks about. While their protests have been hampered by the fact that none of them will acknowledge or speak about it, they did—through a system of gestures and grimaces—convey the message that whatever the snake is, and whatever its effect on nearby neighborhoods, it _is_ the Dark Lord’s favourite and should be protected.

The snake itself offered no comment, only a low hissing and gnashing of fangs. The Death Eaters would not provide any reason for the removal, but did say that any work in the Shrieking Shack was making way for new Quidditch equipment, a picnic area, and Mudblood torture cubicles, which we can _all_ agree are good contributions to the community.

Vincent Crabbe, beater for the Slytherin Quidditch team, has reportedly grown a second head. It is not currently known whether this is a result of Gryffindor pranks, or just another odd coincidence in the kid’s odd life. People in the know say that the new head is better-looking and smarter than the first one, and even Crabbe’s mother has issued a statement indicating that she likes it much better than her son, and that she _will_ be changing the rankings on the public “Which of My Filthy Disappointments I Like Best” board outside her house.

Crabbe could not be reached for comment… probably. I didn’t try.

Friends, listeners, there’s a real Acromantula problem here in Hogsmeade. Many residents have called in to report that illiteracy, unwanted pregnancy, and violent crime are on the rise in the Acromantula communities. The Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures is addressing these concerns through after school programs called, “Teach a spider to read. Stop them from devouring our flesh in a blind rage.”

Those interested in volunteering should stand in their bathtubs and weep until it is all gone. Nothing left. You can let go now. Let go. _Shh_. Let go.

And now a message from our sponsors!

Tired of your home? Sick of comfort? Come to the Chamber of Secrets and huddle with us. Who are we? Good question. Come to the Chamber of Secrets and huddle with us. Why do we want you to come? Why did we spend Galleons for this airtime? We understand you are confused. But—Chamber. Secret one. Huddle. Us. For the low, low price.

Act today, or tomorrow. Not Wednesday. Wednesday is no good for us.

Anyway, we’re almost out of airtime, so just come on down to the Chamber of Secrets and huddle with us.

Or else.

Back to our regularly scheduled programming.

Witches and wizards, the rumor mill is abuzz. We’ve had a celebrity sighting in our little burgh. Old man Aberforth and one of his Order friends reportedly saw _Bathilda Bagshot_ buying mice in bulk at the Magical Menagerie over by the Owl Post. Bathilda Bagshot, wizards and witches, right here in Hogsmeade! Can you believe it?

Old man Aberforth said Bathilda was looking a bit older, moderately dead, and considerably more snakelike—but the Order assured her it was indeed Bathilda. They’re the Order, after all—they know everyone’s secrets, right?

Wow, Bathilda Bagshot. Right here in Hogsmeade. Just imagine!

Update on the snake formerly in the Shrieking Shack that no one acknowledged or spoke about. It seems the Death Eaters, in their supreme mercy and all-seeing glory, have chosen to move the snake’s empty glittering magical cage directly in front of this very radio station, where it is continuing to be what can only be described as… indescribable.

More on this story as it develops…

The Hogsmeade Community Theater is holding auditions for its fall show, “The Fountain Of Fair Fortune.” Interested thespians should bring a photograph and resume to the Three Broomsticks lounge on Thursday night. All auditionees must perform a one minute monologue and sing a Hobgoblins song. Bring sheet music if you would like piano accompaniment. Auditionees will also be required to do a cold reading, and give blood and memory samples, along with mandatory Obliviation following the auditions.

_Do not_ sing anything from Celestina Warbeck.

Mudbloods are forbidden from auditioning, as Hogsmeade Community Theater is no place for filth. Actors with dueling training, wandless magic, and the power of flight are a plus. Final casting will be announced in secret via the Floo network. No one can _ever_ know.

Listeners, do you ever think about the Dark Mark in the sky? I was sitting outside last night, looking at the Mark and I thought, “Does anyone actually know what that thing is still doing there? Have there been any reports on this?”

I went to ask Potter, but he hasn’t been seen much since that _treacherous_ Granger’s vile haircut.

The Mark’s weird though, right? It’s _there_ , and _there_ , and then suddenly, it’s not. And it seems to be pretty far up. Is it spying on us for the Dark Lord? If not, why is it still there? Is it an indication we are about to die? Hey, give us a chance. We may not always be the best Death Eaters in the world, but we try.

The Hogwarts board of governors has announced some changes to the school curriculum. They are as follows.

-In response to parent feedback, History of Magic will focus more heavily on textbook reading and traditional exams, rather than torture sessions courtesy of the Carrows.  
-Care of magical Creatures is adding a new type of monster, on the grounds that it’s been a while since anyone has done that. The new type of monster is “vimby,” and it is categorized by its pale blue colour and the fact that it can swallow you in a single bite by unhinging its jaw. House points _will_ be awarded to the first student to successfully breed one.  
-Ancient Runes and Arithmancy are switching names. Their curriculum will stay exactly the same.  
-Astronomy will now be conducting stargazing sessions only with cunfundus hexes on every participant, in order to protect them for subversive centaur theorizing. Also, Pluto has been claimed for the Dark Lord.  
-All classrooms will be equipped with at least one living teacher present for the entire instruction period. Ghosts will no longer be permitted in any classroom situation.  
-Finally, in addition to the current class offerings of Herbology, Potions, Charms, and Transfiguration, Hogwarts will now be offering: Mudbloods and the Dangers they Pose to a Safe Pureblood Society, the Dark Lord’s Rise, and randomized torture sessions.

Hokey, our newest house-elf, recently brought me a goblet of pumpkin juice. She’s waving at me –hello, Hokey- and she’s saying… wait, what was that, Hokey? I see.

She’s saying that Bathilda Bagshot has turned a mottled black and blue, and is causing small whirlwinds in front of our radio station doors. There is apparently the smell of rotting flesh, as though someone had been dead for many weeks before being discovered.

Oh, Hokey has stopped beating herself with a table lamp, and is now writing furiously on a piece of parchment. She’s handing it to me… thank you, Hokey. Let me see here.

Ahh.

It says that the Death Eaters believe the reason for the violent reaction of Bathilda Bagshot, is because she was a human vessel for the snake formerly in the Shrieking Shack that no one acknowledges or speaks about. They urge me to stop speaking of it and never do it again, and in exchange, they’ll move the glittering cage somewhere else so I can get my front door back.

After a brief consideration, I have decided to accept the Death Eaters’ offer, because they _are_ trustworthy leaders looking out for our better future, and also because Hokey just got vaporized by a strange green light emanating from outside.

To the owners of Hokey, I thank you for her service to the cause of wizarding wireless radio, and join you in mourning her loss.

And, without further ado—nor ever again mentioning anything we shouldn’t—let’s go to the weather.

(Cue "Love Potion Locomotion" by Celestina Warbeck.)

The service for Hokey will be lovely. We will throw flutterby leaves and weep. She will be buried behind Madame Puddifoot’s, as is the custom. Her owners will come and moon about the Butterbeer as though we have answers. We do not have answers. I am not certain that we even have questions. I have chosen not to be certain of anything at all so as to make Legilimency sessions with the Dark Lord as painless as possible.

This is Draco, faithfully, speaking to you, purebloods, for Hogsmeade wireless radio, and I would like to say, in the most faithful terms possible, and with no implications or insinuations of ever breaking from the Dark Lord’s regime: goodnight, listeners. Goodnight.

***

He is almost immortal. He is almost immortal at last...

Welcome to Hogsmeade.

As you all know, faithful listeners, it is Pureblood History Week, in which we all learn a bit about what made our magical community as mighty as it is. Or, as the official motto released by the Death Eaters goes, “Eradicate and deny any parts of your history that do not reflect pure and noble ancestry.”

In the interest of civic participation, Hogsmeade wireless radio will be pitching in with short lessons about some points of interest from our town’s history, starting with: 4,000 B.C. The Ministry believes this is the earliest date of wizarding settlement in Hogsmead. Little remains of these ancient inhabitants, except a few rudimentary wands and goblin-forged artifacts... _and_ crude etchings of the first ever Dementors that would watch them in the distance. Inhuman, rasping figures that never came closer or farther away, but whose presence could be felt even with eyes shut tight, huddled in fur and the company of another human’s naked skin.

... Or so I’m extrapolating from the evidence.

The etchings mainly resemble smudges now, after their original discoverer attempted to have Filch remove them off the walls because “one must not tell lies.”

And now, the news.

The Department for International Magical Cooperation asks that whoever is magically assaulting the tourists: _please stop_. According to Ministry executive Pius Thicknesse, there were two separate incidents in one week of Portkey passengers disappearing and reappearing several months earlier in midair in Canadian shopping malls, all to the utter confusion of foreign holiday shoppers.

Thicknesse added, “we rooted through lots of trash for those Portkeys.”

Thicknesse claims that tourism accounts for tens of thousands of Galleons annually for Hogsmeade, and the town prides itself on hospitality. He said, “if Pureblooded families travel to Hogsmeade only to find their trip hijacked in horrific, wholly unbearable ways, then we certainly can’t expect these people to return, let alone write good editorials for the _Prophet_ about local businesses.”

The Death Eaters are asking residents for help in determining who, or what, is causing these spatio-temporal infractions. The Ministry is offering Nifflers as a reward for information on this case. Or, even if you don’t _have_ information, they ask that you come get a Niffler or two anyway. Seriously, Ministry offices are overrun with them—in the lifts, walls, carpentry. Someone keeps levitating them in.

_Please help_.

It has been several weeks since anyone in Hogsmeade has seen the Half-Blood Prince—that blood traitor who wears a Dark Mark on his arm and follows the Dark Lord everywhere. He has not been seen since he began investigating the great screaming heard at the Shrieking Shack and the words written in blood inside.

Also, there is no portrait of him in the Headmaster’s office, and the space where it should hang is now given up to Albus Dumbledore, who will not comment or explain.

I think I speak for everyone in the community when I say, good riddance to that local embarrassment. He made the whole town look like blood traitors.

And now, let us continue with our Pureblood History Week special feature.

The year 1000 AD: the four Founders arrive on the Hogwarts grounds, which were not the Hogwarts grounds then but rather just another part of a large and featureless forest. I think we can all agree, though, that even as large and featureless as the forest was, the parts that would eventually become Muggle cities were still probably awful and drab in comparison to _our_ part.

In any case, the story goes that Slytherin looked around, and immediately demanded they find somewhere with more prestige. Then they circled back and Slytherin complained again. Then finally, at Hufflepuff’s insistence, the others shrugged and pulled out their wands.

And thus a proud castle was built!

The year 1053: the first introduction of the Sorting Hat, successor to the Founders. Picture it: students in crimson robes and hippogriff claw crowns, as was traditional at the time, setting the groundwork for the splendor of today’s school. A number of elements of our modern educational process were invented in that single evening, including the separation of the four houses based on traits observed in eleven year olds (since unchanged), the lovably invasive practice of searching through children’s thoughts and violating their privacy (as well as the tradition of later ridiculing them if they sorted Hufflepuff), and the official school song, rulebook, and reminder of student death toll.

All records of this meeting were destroyed and... according to a note being passed to me just now... I am to report to the Death Eaters  for re-education, effective tomorrow morning.

Oh _dear_.

The results of a recent survey of the wizarding community came to light this week. The study found widespread dissatisfaction with the Hogwarts library, and when considering the facts, it’s easy to see why.

The books in the restricted section are outdated and prone to biting off your limbs if given the chance. The lending period of three days is not nearly long enough to read lengthier books, give then busy schedules of all our lives. The fatality rate is also well above the national average for school libraries. The gobstones club meeting room does not appear to have seen any maintenance or cleaning in some time. There are reports of Peeves moving about the biography section, concussing lone browsers one by one.

And that biographies section, by the way, is far too small and has been oddly curated, containing thirty-three copies of the official biography of Ignotus Peverell, and no other books.

From top to bottom, the Hogwarts library is a disgrace to our community, and I can only hope the staff does something about that soon, or I may find myself hoping that Peeves wreaks the same havoc on it as he has done when setting fire to its many visitors’ pants.

Slytherin won the Quidditch match against Gryffindor last night!

Two-headed beater Vincent Crabbe credits the win to help from Dementors. The Dementors have made an adamant denial of any involvement whatsoever in the game. They board of governors has announced that they will look into any possible Dementor interference.

Speaking of which: Hogwarts is adding supersensory and dark detector spells at the entrances, and parents and students alike are _outraged_.

Several parents we talked to said that Hogwarts students have long been recipients of Death Eater-issued cursed jewellery and poisoned mead. The board of governors’ decision to put up dark detectors, according to parents, “impinges on the clandestine operations rights as a vast underground shadow circle of blood supremacists and corrupt Dark Lords to bear curses via teenage paramilitary proxies.”

The board of governors countered that studies indicate that fatal curses distract from educators’ ability to educate, and that students who bring poisons to classrooms are more likely to use poisons against others than students _without_ poisons. The board says that attempted assassinations can only get in the way of a quality education.

Well, at the risk of becoming too much a part of this story, listeners, might I say that the board of governors is overstepping its bounds by telling us whether or not students can be armed by nefarious Dark Lords? Should it be a school’s job to say, “No, child, you cannot have cursed necklaces or poisoned mead in the classroom?”

I think not.

Beginning November first, all Hogwarts students who enter the grounds will face dark detector probes. Any curses or poisons will be confiscated and _held_ in the Headmaster’s office until the end of term, when the students can pick them up again.

Seriously, listeners, what’s next? Removing the line, “Praise Slytherin; praise, o ye knowing hero that guides our lives, our hearts, our souls; praise, o ye highest to ye, all-powerful Slytherin” from the new school song?

Let’s return to another key moment in wizarding history.

The year 1981: as tribute to the Dark Lord’s downfall, Hogsmeade citizens dedicated themselves to causing showers of shooting stars. The young, the old, men and women alike gathered in the streets and pointed their wands to the sky for the victory of the Boy Who Lived.

While some credit must be given to the strategic planning of the Order of the Phoenix, and to Ministry Aurors, most reputable scholars believe that a one-year-old was what really finished off the Dark Lord the first time.

The Ministry erected a statue in Godric’s Hollow saying so on a large metal sigh, until the Dark Lord angrily kicked it to pieces a fortnight ago.

And now, a word from our sponsors.

That word is “cloak.”

This next installment in our exploration of wizarding history takes place in the future.

The year 2017: Harry Potter and his friends will escort their children to Platform 9 ¾. The Hogwarts Express will belch steam all over the platform, making it difficult to see their surroundings. In the distance, Potter will meet the eyes of a former blond schoolmate...

Approval ratings for this turn of events will run very low with fans of Harry Potter, which will be surprising, as fanfiction writers will have been re-enacting this very scenario for over a decade.

And now, the weather...

(Cue "Huffelpuff Honeypie" by the Weird Sisters.)

The Death Eaters announced today that Hogsmeade station was not actually something that ever existed in reality, but was instead a shared hallucination of the entire town’s population.

As such, they are proud to declare that students will be confined to school with no means of going home, and massive amounts of gold will be saved on transportation. They recommend owling your families to inform them that you will never make it home for the holidays again.

They also said that if you happen to stumble on Hogsmeade station out by the forest exactly where you remembered it, and it seems completely real, with a train standing there waiting for you—that’s because you are _still hallucinating_ , and should see Madame Pomfrey immediately. Or, have a Death Eater summarily cruciate you as if you are a blood traitor and do not believe in the nobility of the magical race.

So listeners, from this moment in history, the one that’s happening right now, goodnight.

***

Stags, dogs, rats, and wolves are not what they seem to be.

Welcome to Hogsmeade.

We’ve had some mass Avada Kedavra’s reported throughout Hogsmeade in the last couple of hours. If you’ve experienced one... well then, you can’t hear me, can you?

The Death Eaters say that they are still working to determine the cause of the Dark Lord’s killing rage—the Dark Lord is roving back and forth across town in a continuous motion, like a great pacing beast.

Those whose neighborhoods have been hit by the curses reported a hissing of snakes overhead, and that when the green light faded, they felt that perhaps they were different people—their memories and identities uncertain in their minds, like costumes that didn’t fit exactly, as though it all were actually brand new to them. As though all that was familiar would, ever after, be strange.

Keep your wands and a childhood photo album by you tonight, just in case.

The ransacking of Albus Dumbledore’s tomb experienced another setback this week, as Death Eaters determined that the marble casing used to construct the tomb soaks up spells and refuses to crack. This week’s failure to break inside was the _third_ in as many months. Slytherin crews have tried using unforgivable curses, ancient runic chants, and angry gestures to break the tomb open. Nothing has worked.

Death Eaters are asking for help in determining how enchanted tombs are opened. If you have any tips, please send an owl to:

Amycus Carrow,  
Order of Merlin, First Class,  
Hogwarts

Do not use cursive, or long words. Clearly labeled drawings are preferred.

Ladies and gentlemen, it’s that time of year again! Time for our annual pledge drive. Sorry to have to do this but, you know, Hogsmeade has a lot of community-supported radio, and the thing about community-supported radio—it’s supported by listeners like you... as well as Undesirable slaves, and my mother, who is sometimes just _too_ generous.

Any amount you can give will help me to continue this radio programming—a Galleon or two, or even a life debt.

Take Potterwatch, our local secret rebel station, broadcasting from that strange tall antenna built out back of the Hog’s Head on main street. Did you know that it broadcasts out seemingly random static—interspersed with disconnected phrases—twenty-four hours a day, unless you have the password? As you can imagine, that kind of work doesn’t bring in a lot of gold... unless it does.

To be honest, here at Hogsmeade radio, we don’t know exactly what that station is for or what _master_ it is serving. But I _do_ know that it is a vital part of this community and we should pitch in to help it!

We welcome your support. Give me a Floo call. I don’t have an official address—just whisper “Sanctimonia Semper Vincent” into your Floo grate, and the Death Eaters will deliver an appropriate contribution from your Gringott’s vault.

More on the tomb debacle.

It was turmoil in the Headmaster’s office this morning, following this latest in a long line of failures. The Death Eaters have come under fire from the Dark Lord for wasting time on inefficient methods of breaking into the tomb and going over schedule.

One critic, who wished to remain anonymous, said “Dumbledore would have gone on. There’s nothing to be gleaned from breaking into his tomb.” He continued to...

[Draco begins to sound angry] You know what, forget it. I can tell you right now that that was _Hermione_ Granger who said that, and she is such a spoilsport, that Granger! Have you ever noticed how both her parents are Muggles? It’s filth, pure and simple. _Filth_. I just can’t let her ruin our town by denying the Death Eaters a robbery when she doesn’t even come from a proper wizarding family.

The Daily Prophet has announced that, due to spiraling printing costs, they will be replacing the print edition of the paper with a special new _imagination_ edition.

Senior Correspondent Rita Skeeter explains: “Instead of confining our readers to the outdated modes of ink on paper, we are allowing them to choose to let the Dark Lord’s Death Eaters into their heads by means of Legilimency to implant the news directly! This will not only save costs, but will allow the Death Eaters to root around in readers’ heads a bit in case they are hiding anything.”

Subscription to this edition will be compulsory and automatic, and it will cost a mere sixty Galleons a month.

This Friday night at Hogwarts, it’s the first Quidditch match of the season between Slytherin and Gryffindor. Winners of the game will get to participate in the development of new, more painful Unforgivable curses for the Dark Lord’s use, as well as a fundraiser for Saint Mungo’s.

So, even if you don’t like Quidditch, come on out and support a couple of great causes. Last years Cup Match ended in a rout, as the Gryffindor Keeper blocked every Quaffle aimed at him. Slytherin claim there there was some Felix Felicis involved as their efforts to discourage the Gryffindor Keeper through deeply personal, insulting song lyrics were largely ignored.

It should be a fun one? Expect a real revenge-minded Slytherin team to take the pitch on Friday. Dementors will be roaming the grounds, hunting down those who do not attend. The first 50 students to show up will receive mandatory, excruciatingly painful Dark Marks.

And now, traffic.

There’s a Ford Anglia soaring above the tree line by Hogsmeade station. Travelers should have little delays, as the Ministry is fiercely denying this report. In fact, Ministry representatives have just issued a statement, claiming that there are no flying cars anywhere, and, “What are you doing, talking about them, talking silly lies, you silly people? There are no cars, what is this Muggle nonsense? Oh, please, do you seriously believe for a second—wait, wait—you thought that we’d let anyone drive a car and _live_?”

The Senior Undersecretary to the Minister continued, “Hem hem, that is _rich_.”

Good news for broomstick hobbyists! Those invisible black, skeletal Thestrals that appeared around the forest in June and cause massive airborne collisions? Well, they’ve finally been herded away, as new outposts for Ministry interrogation chambers must be built on their territory.

The Slytherin Quidditch team, local broomstick racers, and the Dark Lord (who likes to fly overhead without warning) are just pleased as pleased can be about the news.

Several petitions have cropped up, however, from neighborhood magical creatures rights organizations. Rubeus Hagrid, enthusiastic proponent of one such organization, said “These are seriously misunderstood creatures, these are!” before collapsing into tears and loud moaning. Hagrid was then taken by force to the Hogwarts Infirmary, where he is reportedly causing a great deal of trouble.

Meanwhile, I hear from trustworthy informants that there will be a Butterbeer stand installed outside the Quidditch pitch. _Dee_ -licious.

This just in on Dumbledore’s tomb gate: the Death Eaters said that, in response to this week’s failure to enter it, they will increase the project budget by twenty million Galleons over the next fortnight—the new timeline for cracking the tomb open. Money for these extra expenses will come from Mudblood Gringott’s vaults, a sixty-five percent house-elf tax, and a 276 Galleon Apparition license toll (which will be discounted to 249 Galleons with proof of noble ancestry).

And now for a station editorial.

Large, expensive projects are not uncommon in Hogsmeade. We are a patient, but resilient village. We have great dreams—sometimes frightening dreams implanted by the Dark Lord for his own unknowable purposes and shared by _every_ person in town—but we make those dreams come true.

Remember the Quidditch World Cup? It took eight years and twenty-three million Galleons to build the stadium, and despite its invisibility and unplottability, it is a _lovely_ structure. It’s a classy signature for wizarding Britain, unlike that hideous Muggle architecture you see everywhere nowadays. Muggles can’t do _anything_ right. That’s where Mudbloods like Granger belong. God, what a jerk.

And now, the weather.

(Cue "A Tempest In A Teapot (Literally)" by the Hobgoblins.)

Apparently, the Death Eaters agree with me about Granger.

Dear listeners, we just received a report from a reliable witness that two days ago, Granger was bound and gagged by Snatchers, only to reappear earlier this morning dressed like Bellatrix Lestrange.

I want to take this moment to thank all of you out there, for all of the generous donations you may or may not be aware that you just made. During this show, we have raised just a hair over forty-five million Galleons, which includes a forty-five thousand Galleon donation from a certain anonymous blonde benefactor. I can’t tell you who, let’s just say “my father will hear about this!”

Thank you again for your involuntary support of wizarding wireless radio. We couldn’t do it without the support of listeners like you, in conjunction with unethical contributions from Azkaban escapees.

And with that, I leave you alone with your thoughts, folks.

Stay tuned next for “Cruciatus Step by Step” –a special two hour verbal description of how an effective curse is performed.

Goodnight, Hogsmeade. Goodnight.


End file.
